


Revenge is a Rite of Passage

by LovelyLadyJane



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Blood, Child Assassin, Emetophobia, Gen, Mathias Shaw is a Little Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26964904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyLadyJane/pseuds/LovelyLadyJane
Summary: Six years is a long time to wait for vengeance. But the best assassins are patient. Even if they are only ten years old.
Kudos: 5





	Revenge is a Rite of Passage

Torchlight flickered off the stone walls of the ebony-coloured marble. Eerie shadows danced on the faces of the grim-looking men as they dragged a half-conscious woman through the hallways. Night had fallen, but no moon or stars gave their light through the windows. The men pushed open the solid oak double doors at the end of the hall, revealing an expansive room decorated in gold and red tapestries, lit only by a large fireplace. In front of the fire sat two large plush chairs with a small table between them. In the low light, the painting of the master of the house seemed foreboding and sinister.

“My Lord!” The men rushed in and dropped the woman on the wooden floor. She lay unmoving. As one, the men focused their eyes on the floor so as to avoid staring at their master’s guest – a grotesque, broad-shouldered form of an orc.

Slowly, the man rose from the ruby coloured chair. He turned to face his guards. “I trust you have an excellent reason for interrupting our meeting when I _specifically_ ordered to be left alone.”

“We found an intruder, Master,” one of them finally said in a tremulous voice. “She managed to kill all the outer guards before we apprehended her in your quarters.”

“She – she came to assassinate you, My Lord,” another chimed in. 

The woman groaned and tried to move. The master strode forward and grabbed a chunk of long brown hair, yanking her head up. The woman looked at him with hatred in her eyes. “You filthy traitor,” she managed. One side of her face was beginning to blacken from bruising; mace spike marks were scratched across her cheekbones. Her mouth was full of blood and her left arm hung at an awkward angle.

The man didn’t respond to her. He let her hair go, and her head slumped back down.

“She is not worth my time,” he said. He waved a hand casually at his men as he turned around and walked back to the fire. “Finish her,” he said. “Dump her body so it can be found in Lordaeron – and make sure it sends a clear message.”

* * *

The rain beat a steady tattoo on the wooden coffin as it was lowered into the ground. Young Mathias Shaw stood ramrod straight, unable to take his brown eyes off the mutilated earth as the water tore rivets through the ground on its way to the hole that was to become his mother’s permanent resting place. The tortured ground reminded him of his mother’s ravaged body discovered at the gates of Lordaeron. 

His grandmother had taken him with her when she identified the body. _Look at her, Mathias._ The matriarch’s voice was not unkind. Pathonia Shaw’s whole body had trembled with anger and sorrow. Even the Grand Master of the Stormwind Assassins was not untouched by sadness. _You’re not a baby anymore, Mathias. You will see much worse sights as you grow older. This is what death looks like. Behold, and learn to be unafraid to visit it upon others._

Mathias had looked – and had promptly vomited all over the attending priest’s robes.

Again, he felt the bile rise in his throat as the priest said his benediction. What did this ignoramus know about death and suffering? He was sheltered by the church, rarely leaving its walls to tend the sick, let alone lend his support on the battlefield. Resentment stirred in Mathias’ heart. The old man had never seen anyone die of anything other than old age. He knew nothing. Yet, here he stood, droning on about the deceased’s glorious conquests in battle. 

It sickened Mathias. The old man had always publicly denounced the efforts of the Stormwind Assassins, declaring them to be underhanded and untrustworthy. Privately, Mathias wondered what secrets the old fossil held in his closet. He’d watched his mother and grandmother enough to understand that the cleaner a noble’s façade, the dirtier his secret. No man was innocent. He was sure even these paragons of the Light were no different. 

“I am truly sorry for your loss.”

Mathias looked up in surprise. There stood King Varian Wrynn. The boy king was growing into his manhood. His cheeks were losing that baby pudginess, and his tall, lanky form towered over Mathias. Like all the other refugees from Stormwind, he was displaced, and yet he still managed to retain his regency. The ever-present form of Sir Anduin Lothar stood a few steps behind the young king. 

Mathias had not expected to see him. The Stormwind Assassins did the dirty work for the Crown that no noble would ever acknowledge. What was the king doing at a funeral of someone that had died in oblivion? 

“I understand what it’s like to have a parent taken from you.” So, that was it. Mathias blinked back hot tears. It was true. The former King Llane Wrynn, Varian’s father, had been assassinated during the attack on Stormwind. Clearly, the loss was deep enough in Varian’s heart that he would risk being seen with the family of a deceased assassin. 

King Varian put a hand on Mathias’s shoulder, as man to man, not as king to a four-year-old boy. He glanced up to include Pathonia in his gaze. “Understand you have the full support of the crown to uncover the perpetrators,” he said. 

“The man responsible is guilty of much more grievances against the crown than the death of one of its defenders,” Pathonia said. “Rest assured, he will be dealt with, your Majesty.”

Mathias clenched his fists. He would be dealt with all right. He would be eliminated even if Mathias had to grow up and do it himself. 

* * *

“A ten-year-old boy in the Assassins. I’m telling you, it’s not right.” The speaker was a broad-shouldered man in black leather, imposing enough to win the coveted seat at their tavern table that positioned his back against the wall. His black eyes stared with defiance at his companions. 

“Caleb, you’re not fooling anybody. You’re jealous.” Lisa sat with her chair tipped back, booted feet on the table, idly running a sharpening stone against her dagger.

“Don’t be absurd. The boy’s simply too young.”

“Face it, Sweetie, you’re threatened by the boy, and the only reason you’re too chicken to say so is because he’s Pathonia’s grandson.”

Caleb rose to his feet and slammed his hands down on the table. “Care to say that to my face?”

Lisa stood up to meet him. “You’re a coward.” She enunciated each word, mocking him.

Caleb drew his axe. “You’re going to regret that, wench.” 

“Uh, guys?” A thin, timid blond man spoke up. 

“What, Jared?”

Jared looked up to the overhead balcony and pointed at a boyish face peering at them. 

The jig was up. Mathias Shaw grinned at them and hopped up onto the railing. “Took you long enough,” he said. “I thought you guys were supposed to be the best.”

“You little brat,” Caleb growled and flung his axe at the boy. Mathias sprung off the rails and sailed through the air till he caught the edge of the wooden chandelier hanging from the ceiling. He swung back and forth for a moment, and then jumped off on the upswing. He did a summersault in the air and landed in a crouch at the door.

“Catch me if you can,” he taunted, and took off.

“I’m gonna wring his scrawny little neck.” Caleb grabbed his axe and bolted out the door after the boy.

Lisa shrugged. “When is chasing a little boy through the city streets ever not fun?” she muttered to herself and ran out the door.

“You’re dead, you little creep,” Caleb yelled, pointing at the small boy in the crowd of people.

Mathias just laughed. “You’ll have to catch me first, you stupid orc.” He drew his hand out of a small pouch at his side and threw down a handful of powder. A puff of smoke billowed out and obscured the area. It cleared seconds later, and Mathias was gone.

“Where’d he go? Where is that little brat, I swear by the Light I’m gonna – “

“Up there, look!” Jared pointed to the rooftops.

Caleb growled and shoved the crowded townspeople aside. He ran for the narrow alleyway and vaulted himself against the wall, using it as a brace to propel himself onto the roof with surprising ease for a man his size. The others followed him. 

Mathias ran, jumping from rooftop to rooftop. He paused to make sure Caleb was watching him then he made an obscene gesture and dropped out of sight. The others followed, making their way down into the alley where Mathias had disappeared. 

“I don’t see him,” Lisa said.

“He’s gotta be around here somewhere, there’s nowhere else for him to go.” Caleb ground his teeth together.

In response, there was a loud thump and Jared toppled over to the ground. Behind him stood Mathias, wearing his insufferable grin. 

Caleb smiled. “Big mistake, little boy. Given the choice, you should have taken me out first.” He shot his fist out at Mathias.

Mathias ducked under the swing. “Is that so? Seems to me your man here was the only one who could keep track of me.” He blocked another of Caleb’s punches and smashed his forehead against the bigger man’s nose and the jabbed the heel of his hand into Caleb’s solar plexus. With Caleb winded, Mathias took off. “You’ll never find me now.” 

He laughed and ran down the alleyway, then skidded to a stop as a woman stepped out of the shadows. Pathonia Shaw crossed her arms and stared at her grandson. “You’ve drawn quite a bit of attention today,” she said. “Was that really necessary?”

“Just showing a sense of style, Ma’am,” Mathias stated.

“There’s a difference between style and unnecessary attention, Mathias. I expect you to learn that.”

Mathias’ eyes dropped. “Yes, Ma’am,” he said.

By now, Caleb had regained his breath. “He doesn’t belong here, Ma’am,” he said. “Just because he’s your grandson – “

“Just because he’s my grandson, you think he’s getting special treatment?” A smile twitched at the corner of her lips. Jared groaned at that moment and pushed himself to his feet. “Judging by your current condition, do you really think he needs it?”

The big man shut his mouth and scowled. 

“Now, if I’m not mistaken, you three have assignments you’re supposed to be working on that have nothing to do with being bullies.” She jerked her head to the open end of the alley behind her. “Dismissed,” she said.

As they left, Pathonia turned to Mathias. “Now that they’re gone, I have a mission for you,” she said. “I’ve had several third-finger rogues attempting to gather information on Lord Alan Beckam, and they’ve all gone missing. I need you to track Lord Beckam and find any information on their whereabouts.” 

All good humour and triumph at having bested the older rogues disappeared in an instant. “Lord Beckam? Isn’t that – “

“The man your mother was supposed to kill when she died? Yes.” Pathonia put a hand on Mathias’ shoulder. “I won’t lie to you, boy, this man is dangerous. But he suspects the Stormwind Assassins now. We tried to kill him and that clearly didn’t work. What we haven’t tried and what he won’t expect is a ten-year-old child.” She kneeled down in front of Mathias, grasping him by the shoulders. “Listen to me, I don’t expect you to fight him. Your mission is information gathering only. Do _not_ engage, do you understand?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good.” She rose, then rested a hand gently on her grandson’s cheek. “You’re so much like her,” she said. She ruffled the boy’s hair. “Now, go get ready. The nobles are having a party and I want you to be there. Thank the Light your indiscretion today will probably fall beneath their notice. Off you go now.”

Mathias nodded and bowed stiffly. “Ma’am.” He turned and ran out of the alley.

_Don’t engage?_ Mathias thought as his feet pounded the cobblestones. _Like that’s going to happen_. 

* * *

The sun was setting as the nobles gathered together in the expansive gardens of the Palace of Lordaeron. Soft music played, blending with the tinkling of crystal and the murmur of polite conversation. 

Mathias stood behind the open bar, cleaning glasses as they were discarded. The wine was flowing freely and his hands were kept busy as his mind and eyes wandered around the room.

His grandmother was right – no one noticed a little boy watching the big fancy party. He was invisible to these people, their arrogance and entitlement blinding them to the presence of a little servant boy catering to their needs. 

Mathias saw Lord Beckam the moment the man walked into the room. He was a tall man with almost white blond hair. His thin lips curled up with an insincere smile at the woman he was escorting. She appeared to be prattling on about nothing in particular. Nothing could lead to something, however, and Mathias found himself wishing the couple would come closer to the bar.

His wish was soon to be granted. Lord Beckam was well-known as a wine connoisseur, so he never strayed far from the bar all night; however, his conversations were all but useless. The man was a chameleon. Whatever nefarious business he carried on behind the backs of these good people, he was adept at leaving it at home. He revealed nothing in anything he said. Not that Mathias really expected any useful information at the party. What was Lord Beckam going to say? _I say, old chaps, this is a frightfully good party. By the way, just so you know, I’ve been consorting with Orcs. No need to be alarmed, I simply wish to bring on the destruction of Lordaeron and other human settlements. You needn’t trouble yourself to try to kill me either. Better than you have tried, and they’re dead or missing. Let me detail to you exactly where to find them._

Mathias could have died from boredom. It never ceased to amaze him how many words could be used to say absolutely nothing. Hours passed with no clue. Finally, Lord Beckam began to take his leave. While the man navigated the apparent complexities of conversation involved in leaving a formal gathering, Mathias snuck out the back to the stables. 

It didn’t take him long to find the horses with the Beckam family crest. The stable boy already had them groomed and hooked up to the buggy. Mathias quickly changed out of his formal wear and retrieved his bag from the hay bales in the back. He pulled out a few leather straps and copper bolts and crawled under the buggy. Bolting the leather to the wooden slats, he made himself a makeshift hammock and crawled into it to wait for his target. 

It seemed like forever before Lord Beckam and his lady friend came out of the party hall. Mathias held his breath. If, for any reason, Beckam decided to look under the buggy, it was game over. He ran his hands over the handles of his daggers. If he had to fight his way out, things could get ugly. 

Hatred churned in his stomach. He wanted to kill this man so badly, he could taste it. Part of him wanted to be discovered so that he’d have a chance to plunge his blades into his mother’s killer. Anger gripped him for a moment, blurring his vision and his common sense. He took deep, silent breaths to steady himself. The woman was innocent, as far as he knew. No sense in getting her caught in the crossfire. 

The buggy rocked as they got in and Beckam started up the horses. The woman’s inane chatter filled the night air. _Light, does she ever shut up_ , Mathias thought. 

The answer appeared to be in the negative, as she prattled on through the entirety of the forty-five minute trip to her estate. The buggy creaked again as Beckam got out to help the lady down. From his narrow view, Mathias watched them walk slowly up the pathway to the lady’s door. They stood there talking for over half an hour. Mathias was glad of the leather straps holding him to the buggy. He’d never be able to hold on this long on his own strength. As it was, he was worried the copper bolts would work themselves loose. 

At last Lord Beckam got into the buggy alone and headed out in the direction of his estate. After the carriage pulled into the stables, Mathias waited a few minutes and hopped out onto the manure-encrusted boardwalk. He crawled behind the hedges lining the walkway and snuck past the front guards. He saw a trellis leading up to a window on the side of the house and shimmied up the wall, ignoring the thorns that pricked through his leather gloves. Glancing down, he saw one of the guards walking in his direction. He scrambled up a couple feet onto a small balcony, ducking behind the white bars. He peered out at the guard and watched as he completed his patrol and walked out of sight. Picking the lock on the balcony door, he snuck into the stately room. 

The room was decorated in lush blues and greens. A beautiful canopy draped over the bed, while a forest themed mural sprawled over the wall behind its head. Mathias’ heart almost stopped as he saw someone asleep in the bed. The woman didn’t even stir, however. He crept over to the door on the other side of the room. Slowly, he turned the handle. The bolt gave a soft click and Mathias held his breath. The woman moaned and rolled over, her white hair streaming over the bed, shining like water in the moonlight. Mathias let out his breath and opened the door just enough to peer into the hallway.

The hall was empty, but Mathias paused to listen for footsteps anyway, just in case. He heard the shuffle of cloth-lined boots on the marble floor – unhurried and without the distinct sound of lordship. The butler, probably. He watched as an old man’s head crested the top of the stairs, took a quick glance of the empty hallway, then headed back down. He heard the muffled, ancient voice greet the noble at the door.

“Good evening, Sir, I trust you had a pleasant time.”

“Indeed, Jeffery, although it would be much appreciated if you’ll remind me to never escort Lady Angelina to a formal function again. The woman does prattle on so.”

“Duly noted, Sir. My Lord, if I may, your wine and cigar await in your study. You will be partaking of your nightly ritual, I presume?”

“Indeed. Attend to my horses, if you please, the new stable boy doesn’t know a tail from a muzzle.”

“As you wish, My Lord.”

Most of the conversation faded into the background as Mathias made his way to Lord Beckam’s study. Swiftly, he slid into the partially ajar double oak doors and hid behind one of the gold-threaded red tapestries. He pulled a small star-shaped blade out of his belt and coated it with poison. Then he waited.

Lord Beckam strode up the stairs and blew through his study doors and sat down in his red plush chair. He felt tired. He’d spend an hour here, and then when he was sure the rest of the household was asleep, he’d sneak out for another meeting with the orc, whatever his name was. He could never remember, and his tongue was far too delicate to pronounce it anyway. 

Nearly an hour past. Beckam was just considering his departure when a piece of metal flew out of nowhere and struck him in the hand. He cried out and suddenly felt his hand go numb. He glanced up in surprise as a young boy walked out of the shadows. “Guards!” he tried to yell, but found his voice had gone numb too. The word barely squeaked out in a whisper. He tried to stand up, but failed.

“Please, Sir, you needn’t get up on my account,” the boy said. Beckam would never have believed a boy could look so sinister. A smile crept over the child’s face. “Remember me?” the boy asked. The man shook his head. “Of course you don’t. No noble ever remembers the boy that cleans his wine glass. That’s why the Stormwind Assassins sent me.”

“You’re just a child,” Beckam managed. 

“I grew up pretty damn fast when I saw my mother’s desecrated corpse,” Mathias’ words came through clenched teeth. “Yeah, that woman that you had dropped by the gates of Lordaeron – she gave birth to me. You can understand why I might be a little upset.”

“Didn’t… kill… her…”

“Had her killed, then. You command the men underneath you. Control their lives. Makes no difference to me. You are responsible.”

“You have no idea who I am. I’ll… find you… You’re dead, boy.”

Mathias actually laughed a little at that. “Do you honestly think I would let you see my face if you weren’t dead already?”

Beckam looked terrified. Mathias inched toward him, pulling out a dagger. “First, though, you and I are going to have a little chat.” He shoved the dagger into the man’s gut. Pain gushed through Beckam and he would have cried out if his vocal chords were still capable of it. “What happened to the other men that came to assassinate you? Where are they?”

Beckam gasped and shook his head. “Don’t know,” he mouthed.

“Liar!” Mathias hissed into the man’s ear. He pulled out the dagger and jammed it into Beckam’s hand, twisting it. “I can do this all night,” he said. “The best you can hope for is a quick and merciful death. That’s more than my mother had.” He pulled the blade out and held its bloody edge against the man’s cheek. “I saw what was done to her before she died. I learned to be unafraid of death. And to be unafraid to bestow death upon others.” He thrust the blade into Beckam’s thigh. “Tell me what I want to know.”

Beckam’s back arched slightly. “The orcs have them,” he gasped. “Couldn’t keep… here. The beasts have methods of… finding… information.”

“Where is their camp?” Mathias twisted the knife.

“A few miles south.” He sucked in air between his teeth. “They will win,” he muttered. “We’ve lost the war. My death… means… nothing.”

Mathias grabbed a handful of the man’s collar. “It means everything to me.” He slashed the dagger across the man’s throat. Blood gurgled from his mouth, then he slumped over and died, eyes staring at the gold-plated ceiling. 

* * *

It wasn’t until hours later, when Mathias had made his way out of the estate and was washing the blood off in the dawn over a small river, that the shakes hit him. His first kill. The first life he’d ever taken. He’d finished his mother’s job from so long ago – and it was his first. His breath came in ragged gasps and he had to sit down in the flowing water to compose himself. 

“I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid,” he mumbled to himself, over and over again, as if he’d actually begin to believe it if he said it enough. “I’m not afraid.”

He could never tell how long he sat like that, the cold water washing away the evidence of the life he’d taken. Slowly, he began to calm down, and with that calm came a sense of finality. It was over. The anger and hatred that had boiled inside of him for six years was gone.

Deep inside, though, he knew his war against the enemies of Stormwind had just begun.


End file.
